


Men of Clay

by Sami714



Category: Spartacus: Blood and Sand
Genre: Gen, POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-10
Updated: 2010-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:36:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sami714/pseuds/Sami714
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Batiatus hires a sculptor to create a statue of Spartacus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Men of Clay

**Author's Note:**

> beta read by olansamuelle.

Felix Rufus had made the journey to the ludus before but familiarity didn't bring fondness for the remote and looming prison that was disguised as a villa. Clinging to the cliffs and overlooking the sea, its true purpose was to train killers and Felix could smell the blood before he stepped inside. The only advantage the countryside had over the city was a better stench, but desperation and violence hung over the place, mixing with blood, to negate any benefit of the wilderness surrounding it. The most generous House of Batiatus (may their coffers remain full and their ambition even fuller) had but one virtue – beauty. Everyone knew that weaselly Batiatus' bought only the finest specimens.

 

His last commission had been statues of Barca and a slave boy as Neptune and Pelops for a nearby temple after the Beast of Carthage's victory over the Mad Spartan. It was a true marriage between piety and advertisement with the large dedication plaque that praised both the sea god and the ludus of Batiatus. Highly praised, the piece brought both the patron and artist renown. With the hope of lightening striking twice, he was called now to immortalize another champion.

 

The one they called Spartacus, Bringer of Rain.

 

Felix knocked on the tradesmen's entrance, his donkey's reins in his other hand, and schooled his features to hide his distaste at his patron's profession. Too soon his donkey and cart were taken to the large stables of the guardsmen and he was led to his patron's triclinium where the small man ate a solitary lunch. A dark-haired slave woman in red refilled his goblet.

 

"My good man, Felix Rufus, sit down. Have you brought me tidings of good fortune or has Solonius fucked me again?"

 

"Joyously, the priests do want Spartacus to pose for the new dedication statue to Apollo." Felix bowed, smiling, with little preference to either of the muscle-bound candidate. "More fortuitous for my respectable patron, it was decided that the statute would be even more grand and larger than before with the temple paying for half of the cost."

 

"I knew they couldn't refuse him after that private showing." Batiatus clapped his hands with a smirk before standing up. "What of the statue of Crixus as Hercules?"

 

"The most noble priests of Jupiter unfortunately passed on him." Felix clasped his hands and forced a tight smile on. He worried about his tempestuous boss's reaction as he remembered the time the smaller man had thrown a goblet at him before ordering his bodyguard to literally toss him out the door. He rushed to point out. "However, they have made an inquiry on splitting the cost of a smaller statue with victorious Spartacus as the mighty son of Jupiter instead. To be put in a beautifully lit alcove by the offerings where all can appreciate the piety of the honorable patron."

 

Batiatus shrugged. Raising his goblet to the sculptor, he toasted him. "This piece of bronze better be fucking divine for the gold I'm spending on." The lanista pointed to the slave woman. "Mira, take the good sculptor to our champion."

 

Felix let his polite expression drop the moment he left his patron's sight. The more the man rose, the more insufferable he became. He pitied good Batiatus for his ambitions that burned within the lanista. The man was lucky to be considered respectable, given his business, and all knew that it was due to the last paterfamilias and the abilities of his gladiators. Batiatus wanted a senate seat. Felix could have laughed at the idea of a lanista in the senate, if it wasn't so pathetically delusional.

 

Spartacus cut a noble figure in person and held still as Felix touched his face and made measurements.

 

"Speak latin?" Felix asked, curt from distraction, as he recorded notes in tight script on papyrus. His eyes darted back and forth from the paper to the man, but he focused on individual features – facial symmetry, sensitive fingers, and strong jaw – as opposed to the whole until the man spoke.

 

The tones of Thrace held firm in his speech but his Latin was clear. "Yes, I can. I learned it in the auxiliary."

 

Felix refocused on the man. He cut more than just a noble figure, regal and gritty, he had a charisma and presence. Making a note of it, Felix could see why the priests had changed their minds once in his presence. "Gossip hold you were a deserter under that glory-hound Glaber."

 

"Glory hound? The gossips are more truthful than once thought." Spartacus smiled. "The Legatus deserted far more grievously than I when he disobeyed the senate and ordered his men to Mithridates. Only to lose in the East and see the west overrun with Getae."

 

Impressed by the logical rhetoric, Felix turned from his notes to scan the unlikely man. "Crassus would have been pleased by such a statement."

 

"My servants have unloaded your clay." Batiatus announced as he strode in with a servant behind him holding a dark clay block.

 

"Gratitude, patron." Felix bowed and directed the clay to the work table.

 

Batiatus turned to Spartacus. "Keep your mouth closed and look divine. The tradesman is at his craft and needs no distractions."

 

It wasn't long before he finished the preliminary sketches and notes in silence. Felix began molding the rough model of the entire statue. The only words spoken were orders to the gladiator on his stance and pose. Hours passed until the light darkened and Felix realized his final concept. He bid good morrow to Spartacus before the same slave woman led him to his room in the servant quarters. Before he slept, he made his prayers and libation to Vulcan. Felix hoped he could finish with his other clay models quickly.

 

Rising with the cock's crow and the clattering of cookery in the nearby kitchen, Felix made his preparations as he kneaded the clay and polished his first model. He had already decided to sculpt a young and vibrant Apollo, the prophetical slayer of beasts, in a vigorously confident pose. Next, he made a rough model of a set of hands and a head. Summoning Spartacus after lunch, he ordered the man to show him his hands.

 

Spartacus held them out until Felix nodded and then posed.

 

"I bid you good morning, Spartacus." Felix said as he circled the gladiator before returning to work on the model of the hands.

 

"And I the same." Spartacus tipped his head.

 

The door opened with a thud. "Ah, my good sculptor, I hear word that you have been the soul of industry all morn and now I see the fruits of your labor." Batiatus strode in with an apple in his hand. He examined the models and then the gladiator. "I'm well pleased by the design. Be sure to supervise the temple's painter after you've handed the finish statue over. I've seen his work before and some of his pieces are near blasphemies."

 

Felix nodded. "I'll see it done."

 

"Carry on." Batiatus walked around the room as he bit his apple.

 

Felix pick back up his scraper and resumed shaping the fingers. His patron's movement distracted him, but he wouldn't be the first or last nosy patron to darken Felix's workspace.

 

"Who taught you such a craft? Your father?" Batiatus asked, looking up at Spartacus, but talking to Felix.

 

"Indeed. He was a master at his trade."

 

"As did mine. My father was also a master at molding men of flesh as opposed to clay. Shaped his entire house by his iron will." Batiatus' expression tightened and his fingers dug deeper into the apple. "Saw the house rise on the backs of champions."

 

Felix didn't know what to make of his patron's thoughtful and intimate mood. "Your honorable father would be most proud of your successes."

 

Batiatus smiled thinly. "Perhaps." He left the room without farewell.

 

Spartacus watched him leave before turning back to Felix.

 

Felix shrugged, who could guess the mind of such a man, and their work continued. The lumpy hand model transformed into strong fingers under his patience guidance.

 

Throughout the silence wait, the gladiator remained still and grave.

 

Once satisfied he began the most delicate model – the head. Studying Spartacus' face before he started, he asked, "You called forth the rain. How does it feel for a man to be seen as near divine?"

 

"Some men may delight in it, but I was never one for the gods." The man's expression was clear and earnest.

 

"Still Fortuna blesses you." Felix tilted his head as he crossed his arms. Spartacus was far better than the rabble he fought in the arena to Felix's mind. There was much in his gaze that was worth exploring and Felix wanted to capture the essence of the man touched by destiny. He could understand why the sky would break before this gladiator's will. "What do you believe in?"

 

"Men." Spartacus broke from the pose to look Felix in the eye. "I believe in men, the evil that they do as well as the good, the love that they share and the hate that rips them apart. I believe in the lengths men will go to fulfill their fate or avoid it. Even Hades had to bow to Heracles's will in the underworld."

 

Felix opened his mouth to reply, mind frenzied with the emotions he would sculpt into the clay, when Batiatus strode into the room. An African manservant shadowed him.

 

"Good Felix, presently I come bearing the words to the inscription." Batiatus raised his hand as if orating in the senate. "Quintus Batiatus, first of his name but not of his line, dedicates this humble statue to the glory of Apollo. May the unmatched feats of the Bringer of Rain, and the ludus from which he came, echo through time for Apollo's honor."

 

Felix clapped his hands and bowed in practiced flattery. "Excellently worded, my patron." He was almost impressed with the man's new found restraint. The last carving had been full of boasts while this one pushed the idea of a respected Batiatus line in the casual discreet manner of those born to the upper classes. "Your piety shall be even more renown throughout the whole of Capua.

 

"Solonius will shit himself." Batiatus smiled as he strode towards the work table. "Quality hands." He looked to the rough head model. "Needs some more work, I see." The little man peaked into the wine pitcher on the table with a snort. A merchant's look of calculation blossomed in his gaze. "Speak of your progress."

 

"I was studying his noble face." Felix bowed again, feeling the sweat drip down his side, averting his eyes.

 

Batiatus made a sound, 'hmmpf', in the back of his throat. "More sculpting, less studying. You've had days to look at him." He turned and said to his manservant, "Santos, water his wine down more. The face is the most delicate part of the job."

 

Felix bowed, scowl creeping on his face, as he said, "As you desire." The patron was gone when he straightened. He shook his head as he watched the man servant take a waterskin from his belt and water down the wine before leaving the scroll with the inscription. Looking at Spartacus, their eyes locked, and Felix knew they were thinking the same thing – Batiatus was an ass. Felix returned to sculpting and continued after it was dark and the candles had burned down. He finished the head model before saying good night to the gladiator. Drowning down some pointedly unwatered wine, he rubbed his hands before falling asleep and dreaming of Capua.

 

The morrow found Felix standing before this clay models with his cap in hand.

 

The patron looked over his models. Even the wife of Batiatus, a stately redhead who probably yearned for a more virile partner than her scrawny lanista, examined his work. The pair conferred in whispers to each other. The woman pointed to the head and spoke into Batiatus's ear. He nodded with a smirk. "Your work has been deemed excellent and fit to bare our family name."

 

Felix bowed. "My deepest gratitude. I shall sculpt a mold fit for time immemorial and the old Greek masters. Allow me but a few weeks and I shall cast you a bronze statue that will astound the city."

 

Batiatus's wife drew herself up higher, arching her brow, and said, "Make sure the temple is aware the both the magistrate and Senator Albinius will be attending the dedication banquet. No doormouse or anything less than Cesnia wine."

 

Batiatus smiled at her. "Let us not forget the Legatus and his wife. We're rising in company, Felix, and this banquet better fucking reflect that. Send an invitation to that ass fuck, Solonius. I want him to see me sharing wine with the Senator and be awed by your statue." Batiatus stepped closer. "Make Spartacus a god and see yourself rise as well."

 

"All as you wish." Felix nodded. "May the House of Batiatus reach the stars and glitter among them for eternity."

 

"I like the sound of that." The patron grinned and looked to his wife with dreams of power in his eyes.

 

The redhead smiled and touched her bejeweled necklace. "Indeed. Its poetic."

 

"We trust in your talent." Batiatus attempted a gracious gesture and stance despite the smugness that radiated from his toga-wrapped form. "Farewell and good fortune."

 

Smiling, Felix left with a final bow, rejoicing in the thought of the open road and his home in the distance. He had the donkey's cart loaded quickly and the models protected by hay before he smacked the donkey's rump and rolled away from the ludus by the cliff. Swords clanged together, as the gladiators trained, and echos followed him on the road. The wind picked up, wildflowers bloomed in the ditches, while the scent of the sea faded and the sun grew warmer over head. He thought of Spartacus, before he saw only the pieces of the Thracian, but now he saw the whole. Felix knew in his gut, like he knew the feel of slippery clay, that he would make a masterpiece of Spartacus.

 

Weeks later, Felix watched as Capua's most respectable citizens admired his statue. Candles ringed the base as the citizen head priest of Apollo spoke of the glorious god. The statue stared into the crowd, bronze shining in the flickering glow, divinely life sized, its muscles seemed to flex with vigor. It was the crescendo of his career.

 

Batiatus and his wife shared identical smirks as they stood straight backed and proud near the statue.

 

The very man copied in bronze was shackled in the back of the room in the same position as his metal double.

 

Felix walked over to quietly greet Spartacus. "How fare you, my friend?"

 

"My eyes cannot believe this sight." He shook his head and looked at Felix with a small smile curling the corners of his mouth. "Truly you are a master of your craft to make one such as I to look like a god. I see your statue and I cannot believe it is me."

 

"Believe it. Its how I, and the rest of Capua, see you." Felix clapped the gladiator on the shoulder. "That is you, Spartacus. That is indeed you."


End file.
